I Pray He Will Be Here in the End
by RishiGenki
Summary: This was England's problem, his bosses had said. England controlled Fort Roughs. If he chose to abandon it, that was his business. It was best to carry on, they assured. It's not like the little sea fort mattered. Oneshot, parent!Francis.


_I Pray He Will Be Here in the End_

By RishiandSquee

Rated: K+

Word count: 3,000+

Characters: Francis and Peter, with small mentions of Alfred, Matthew, and Arthur.

Warning: There are _lots_ of little history blurbs commented on here and there in this fanfiction, (because I'm a history geek and I can't help adding a bit of authenticity), but everything that needs explaining is explained at the end in the footnotes. If anything goes unexplained and you are curious, feel free to shoot an email at me, and I will be happy to answer it.

Constructive criticism and advice are welcomed and encouraged.

[A/N:_A__quick__little__one-shot__that__is__sort__of__a__companion__-__or__more__of__an__expansion__-__to__chapters__six__and__seven__of_Rejected Kindness_,__where__Francis__mentions__to__Germany__about__the__time__between__when__Sealand__was__abandoned__as__a__British__war__fort__in__1956__and__its__declaration__of__becoming__the__Principality__of__Sealand__in__1967.__During__that__time,__it__was__completely__abandoned.__I__imagine__that__Peter__was__also__completely__abandoned__during__that__time,__which__was__the__basis__for__this__fanfiction._

_You__do__not__need__to__read_Rejected Kindness_,__nor__it__'__s__predecessor_Memories of a Different Time, _nor__the__various__other__fanfictions__that__are__connected__to__this__little__universe,__to__understand__this__one-shot,__but__you__are__welcome__to__read__those__in__order__to__expand__your__knowledge__and__understanding__of__this__little__blurb__that__I__had__to__write__about__a__war__fort__in__the__middle__of__the__sea_.]

( - )

It was December of 1966. Christmas and New Years were being prepared for with nothing but smiles, happiness and joy. All the nations around the world seemed to be coming together. The United Nations, though still only two decades old, seemed to be flourishing even more and promoting peace in the majority in Northern and Eastern Europe.

Francis Bonnefoy was one who loved the holidays. He took joy in the merriments, in the wine, in the great celebrations, and especially in the love that seemed to saturate the air. Francis Bonnefoy was one of the first in line to promote peace and goodwill in these times.

However, there was something dark lurking in Francis' heart, something that haunted his dreams and made his nightmares a reality. Something that had crept into his heart over two decades ago, of someone in particular that affectionately had called him 'uncle Franny'.

A small child who had been abandoned by the one that Francis held more dearly in his heart than anyone. A small child who had done nothing but try to please, only to be tossed aside without a moments hesitation.

It was the twenty-second of December. The days had been whirling by faster then usual, as the French man had been wrapped up in the parties and celebrations that came with the month.

Francis loved the parties more then anyone. They were a great way to express his love and affection for love.

However, nearly a month before, he had set aside some of this time for specific, personal, 'emergency' leave. He would not attend any parties until Christmas Day - and though he knew he would probably disappoint a great number of people, it had to be done.

Peter Kirkland was waiting for him. Peter Kirkland, all alone in a rotting and rusting fort. Peter Kirkland, who was suffering in silence, his cries of loneliness silenced by the rushing waves, ignored by the rest of the world.

Francis, as a person, could not ignore him. As a nation, he was forced to turn the other cheek. This was _England__'__s_ problem, his bosses had told him. _England_ controlled Fort Roughs. If England chose to abandon it a metal fort in the middle of the sea, then that was his business. _It__was__best__to__carry__on,_ they assured.

_It's not like the little rusting sea fort matters._

His bosses did not know about Peter Kirkland. Who would believe that a metal fort had been personified in the forties? Most people had a hard time believing that counties could have people that represented them. 'Fort Roughs' had never had a place on the world stage, so why should people know of it?

But Francis knew. And his heart would not allow him to let a child suffer, much less by himself on the middle of a tiny fort in the sea.

As a nation, Francis could do nothing to help Peter. But as a person, he could do more then anyone else could.

Alfred and Matthew also tried their best to watch over Peter, though not they could not attend to the task nearly as carefully or as often as Francis did. They both had their own issues, on the other side of the globe. Alfred himself was in the middle of a war, one that was not going so well. Matthew still had loose ends to tie up with England, though the Canadian was now an independent nation. He still had final issues to resolve with Arthur.

Francis was the only real choice of a person to take care of and watch over Peter, though he could not bring the boy to a real home. He had no other choice. It could be an issue of international levels if Francis even tried to bring the child to a temporary home. Arthur did not even have an inkling that his former 'war fort' was being tended to by Francis and his former colonies. If he caught wind that Peter was given a home, _especially_ by Francis' hand, the former pirate would be enraged, though he was not in the best shape himself.

Francis had to respect Arthur's wishes, as much as he hated it.

_To__have__a__child__suffer,__especially__because__of__an__adult__'__s__selfishness,__was__the__most__cruel,_ he thought bitterly.

The tinges of memories in the past, of having to abandon the barely-colonized child he had called his own, of _Mathieu_, still haunted him, even now. It was perhaps because of that that Francis felt he must care for Peter, even if in secret.

( - )

It was raining when Francis headed for the old, abandoned fort.

He was wrapped in a poncho that a fisherman had kindly given him earlier that day, assuring him that he would need it. _There__'__s__a__storm__brewing,_ he had told the blond. _Best__to__get__to__where__you__need__to__be__as__fast__as__you__can._

His eyes scanned the coast as he sat in the small boat that he had rented nearly a week in advance. It was hardly bigger then a dingy, but it had a motor and it gave Francis a way to get to his purpose. He had to put aside the frivolities that he so desired and focus on the task at hand.

Under the poncho and in his hands, Francis clutched a small box, carefully wrapped in colorful paper. It was hardly a good gift - just a tiny stuffed animal that Francis had bought when Peter had been on his mind more than usual - but seeing as the boy never got any gifts, except for maybe Christmas, he figured that the child would be delighted.

It hurt, to think that Peter was denied even the smallest of kindnesses. But it was something that Francis had to push to the back of his mind, at least for now.

The fort was coming into sight. Francis bit his wind-chapped lips and dug his nails into the box, preparing himself for the worst. It had been three months since Francis had been able to find the time to visit Peter. Circumstances had left him completely tied up and unable to gather even the smallest amount of free time.

Matthew had gone to secretly visit Peter a few times since then, but the Canadian's assurances that Peter's heath had not deteriorated since the last time Francis had visited did nothing to soothe the aching pain in his bones.

When Francis finally boarded the fort, he tied the small boat onto one of the metal pillars that adorned the sea vessel. He turned his back as a clap of thunder rumbled in the distance, and he walked briskly to the fort without faltering.

Reaching out a hand, he opened a door that led to a small, dark stairwell. He quickly descended, as he had memorized almost everything about the fort in the past decade, and was soon in a small, open room.

It looked empty at first glance. Francis knew better then to believe that.

"Hello…?"

Looking around, the blond scanned the room quickly. It was dusty, as usual, and the air was heavy. Chairs and tables, long ago abandoned by soldiers, were cluttered at one end of the room. Francis quickly walked over to them, kneeling down and pushing a chair out of his sight of vision to be greeted by a small, dark figure.

Francis' next words were barely a breath.

"_Mon__Dieu_…Peter..."

Peter Kirkland was laying face-forward, his knees curled up and tucked under his chest. Blond hair, which had been shiny and healthy years ago, was matted and dirty. The boy was dangerously thin, and Francis was able to see a few of his ribs, even through the baggy sailor's uniform that had adorned Peter's person for years.

His eyes were closed. He looked as if he was sleeping, almost peacefully, but Francis knew better then to believe that.

It took Francis everything he had to fight the urge to yank Peter from underneath the tables and hug him. He had to be careful with the blond child, had to take tiny steps in order to get Peter to open up, even a little bit.

Gently, the old nation's fingers rubbed into Peter's back, just to check if the child was breathing. He was, which was a small relief. As Francis continued to press his long fingers in soothing circles on Peter's back, blue eyes fluttered open underneath abnormally large eyebrows.

Peter was no longer sleeping. But then again, he wasn't really awake, either.

It took the boy took a few moments to gather his bearings. Once he realized that Francis was staring at him, concern flickering his eyes, he gave the best, lopsided smile he could. Sleep deprivation was obvious in Peter's face, the dark circles that surrounded his eyes. The pain was also obvious in his hesitancy, obvious though no injuries adorned his body. For a nation - for a personification - the pain of no longer being needed, of being cast away and shut out, hurt more then any physical blow.

No longer being needed was what lead to a nation's downfall, after all.

It took Rome only a few years to deteriorate, once his empire fell. Germania had quickly followed suit. Even Francis' own parent, Gaul, had succumbed to war and deterioration faster then he was able to understand, back when Francis was still barely a child. All the old nations left the world swiftly, hardly even leaving any of their history behind. All nations left that way. It was not in a nation's nature to deteriorate slowly.

Why Peter, who had been abandoned for ten years, was still alive, was a mystery to Francis.

A painful, painful mystery.

Shifting so that he was now sitting up on his knees, Peter crawled out from underneath the table and into Francis now outstretched arms. The older man embraced him, the tears dotting his eyes as he hugged tightly onto the other, stroking the matted, greasy hair and whispering whatever soothing words he could think of.

It took a moment for Francis to realize that his addled mind was speaking French, and he quickly switched into English so that the silent child could understand.

"Please, please Peter, stay strong. You have to get healthy, au? I do not like seeing you this way, to see you hurting so badly..._mon__petite_, you may cry if you wish...do not be so silent in front of your Uncle Francis, _s__'__li__vous__plait_. It unsettles me, please…" Francis half whispered, half begged, stroking Peter's shaking frame as he rocked gently.

After what seemed like an eternity, it seemed that Peter's mind registered the words, as the held-back tears slipped quietly out of his crystal blue eyes. Francis kissed them away, one by one, almost as quickly as they came. The two blonds stayed like that, for quite a few moments, before Peter finally spoke.

"Is...is Arthur...?"

Francis' heart ached at the single word. Peter still asked for Arthur every time that he came. Being a child, Peter knew nothing of how Arthur had abandoned him, and assumed that he was to take care of the fort on his own, always waiting for Arthur to come every day. And every time he asked about the Englishman, Francis had two choices: either to lie and say Arthur was busy, or to tell the truth - tell Peter that Arthur did not want him.

The decision was easy to make, as always. Flawlessly, Francis smiled and brushed the bangs out of Peter's eyes.

"Ah, _Angleterre_ sends his best wishes to you, _petite_," he said smoothly, placing a chaste kiss on Peter's forehead. "He is sorry that he can no longer see you, but he is busy, _oui_? My poor little Peter must get so lonely without him, but he misses you."

A small smile graced Peter's lips. "Yeah," he replied hoarsely, "Tell him I said hi, okay?"

Francis nodded and rested his chin atop Peter's head, stroking the other's hair. "Yes, yes, of course," he agreed. "I will tell him to come see you soon, _je__promets_. Arthur is such a bad big brother for leaving you alone for so long, isn't he? I'm sure he does not realize how lonely you get, _cherie_."

The child's nose furrowed as he pouted. "He's not a bad brother. He's always busy. It's okay, I'm strong. I promised that I would take care of the fort. Arthur knows that," he insisted, though Francis knew that was a lie as well. "I'm not lonely. Promise."

Francis laughed and pressed another kiss on Peter, this time adorning his cheek. "Ah, _oui_…" he agreed. "I know, you are a strong little boy, Peter. So, so strong...much stronger then any of us could have dreamed of."

After a moment of silence, with Peter so obviously relishing the affections Francis gave him, the elder nation pulled away and smiled warmly.

"Ah! I almost forgot," he said, producing the box from his coat pocket and presenting it to Peter, whose eyes lit up almost immediately. "Arthur told me to give this to you, for Christmas. You know it is Christmas, don't you, _petite_?" he asked gently, pressing it into Peter's hands. The child shook his head, eyes never leaving the box, hands shaking.

"I know that he cannot see you often, Peter, but I promise that he is always thinking of you...he loves you," Francis insisted, more to himself then to Peter, as he bit through the lies and helped the child unwrap the gift. The boy's hands were shaking, and Francis was afraid that he couldn't rip open the paper on his own.

Nestled inside the cardboard box was a tiny stuffed rabbit, barely the size of Francis' hand. It was a trinket, but Peter's eyes widened at the toy, his fingers wrapping themselves around the stuffed animal and pulling it close. Francis' heart warmed up, though it was only temporary.

Peter's pain, his pain and his hurt, were so obvious...but this small Christmas miracle was all Francis prayed for. The smile, the honest to God smile...all Francis prayed for, all year, was to be able to see that smile on Christmas. Even if it was because of a lie, Peter's happiness was all Francis could ask for.

After all, Francis knew that Peter did not have much time left. To an old nation, whom had seen dozens of Their Kind pass from the world, Francis knew the child had a year, at most, if things did not change.

Francis closed his tear-prickled eyes in a desperate, vain prayer.

_Please, please let Arthur come in the end...when Peter finally passes, when all his pain and suffering ends, please, please let Arthur come and see what a fool he has been, to let go of such an angel. Let him come, let him rectify his mistakes...what a foolish brother, a foolish man, to ignore such suffering in silence._

_Please, let him come as Peter's final wish._

.end

[ **some****final****notes:**

_-Fort Roughs, which was what Sealand was called until 1967, was abandoned in 1956. The fort had been planned to be torn down, perhaps as early as 1945 or 1946, but for some reason the demolition never happened._

_-The war that Alfred is fighting at this particular point in time is the Vietnam War. France actually brought America into the Vietnam War, and I wanted Francis to mention that, but I doubted that many people would have caught that..._

_-The nation of Canada was still trying to break away completely from England at this point in the sixties, though they had declared independence back in 1866 or 1867. It took until at least the 1980s for Canada to cut all of it's ties to England and become completely independent._

_-In the early Western World, during the very early colonization days, France essentially abandoned Canada after England trounced them in yet another war, waged over the colonies. This was when Canada was basically still in its infancy, and though England took care of the north colony, it was hundreds of years before France and Canada had any relations at all. I imagine Francis to have been very hurt and very ashamed because of this._

_-The empire of Rome, though extremely powerful, fell all too quickly. I imagine that personifications usually died when their people did, or perhaps when they were no longer useful to the world. Fort Roughs was never really useful, however. I imagine that the nations minds are represented by their people, and their governments will, while their bodies are represented by their land. Since it was made of metal instead of land, Fort Roughs rusted slowly, and I imagined that this Peter's own body deteriorated in direct relation to his fort._

_-In addition to all this, England was also going through hard economic times from post-WWII to about the seventies. I imagine that it was a very stressful time for Arthur as well..._

_...God, I am such a nerd. I put too much thought into this...regardless, I hope you enjoyed this fanfiction. If well received, there will be more to come. Thank you very much. ]_


End file.
